


I Could Have Danced All Night

by Hestia01



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Costume Parties & Masquerades, M/M, Multi, Pining, The Arrangement, gender flip
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-22
Updated: 2019-08-22
Packaged: 2020-09-24 04:13:42
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,728
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20352193
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Hestia01/pseuds/Hestia01
Summary: Aziraphale is sent in a female body on an assignment in 1850, which threatens to be tiresome. What this party needs is a demon!





	I Could Have Danced All Night

**Author's Note:**

> This fic is inspired by a piece of fanart by @hayamiyuuchan
> 
> Relevant fun fact: in England, the spinning carnival ride that people in the US call tilt-a-whirls, are known as waltzers! Something I learned while writing this.

London, 1850

Aziraphale was on assignment, and a rather irksome one at that. Unfortunately, The Arrangement wasn't an option in this case. Crowley probably would have jumped at the chance to crash a posh party, it was much more to his character and he would have had a much easier time fitting in, but he was simply not to be found. “Oh, Crowley, of all the times for you to disappear! You would've been glad to cover this for me!” He...she...plucked nervously at her skirts. For this occasion, it was part of the job to appear as some Lady So-and-So's maiden aunt or similar relative, to act as chaperon at a formal ball. Luckily, the body was a near enough facsimile to his...her...usual one, only rather nicely transposed into female form. It appeared middle-aged, soft, with rather nice curves. Aziraphale was a bit self-conscious of her newly-developed bosom, but she was otherwise satisfied. Knowing how the bosses up top were prone to behave, she had to feel rather lucky with her lot.

She whipped out her fan and fluttered it in annoyance. It was an easy enough job, just keep an eye on her target and make sure the young lady didn't create a scandal by running off with some scalawag baron who was also attending the ball. Aziraphale squirmed, wriggling her shoulders against the pull of her dress. Despite the ridiculousness of the situation, she didn't mind the clothes so much. She swished the skirt back and forth to watch it catch the light. The dress was quite beautiful; soft cream and beige satin with iridescent threads woven throughout, winking silver and pink in the light. Her shoes were high-buttoned shimmery white ladies' boots, accented with silver and pearl. It had taken some time to get used to high heels! At her back were fluffy white wings—not her own! It was a masquerade ball and she needed a costume, but her imagination was sorely lacking. It didn't take long for the costume to prey on Aziraphale's emotions, however. Already, numerous party-goers had called “Angel!” at her. Each time, her heart leapt and was instantly crushed. Each time reminded her of how much she wanted to see Crowley. 

With a resolute huff, Aziraphale kept watch. Her white, grey, and pink tartan fan was her one small act of rebellion. Her superiors in Heaven might have forced her into this, but they'd pry her comforting plaid from her discorporated hands. She flicked it open again with a satisfied smirk. Yes, she had to admit she felt rather pretty tonight. If only the dress wasn't so tight! Still, Aziraphale was no stranger to discomfort, and this was minor. 

Amid the ambient noise of the party, she could make out the sharp clicks of gentleman's shoes. Too late to turn around to see, he collided with her!

“Oof! Do look where you're going, you great blundering buffoon!” Several books fell out of her skirt and she tried in vain to pick them up.

“Angel? Is that you?”

Books fell to the floor once again as Aziraphale stood up and they stared at each other! Crowley looked every inch a rake, in a black velvet jacket and sleek breeches. A red satin waistcoat shone out, with a matching scarlet froth of a cravat, pinned with a black hematite pin in the shape of a snake. He also wore a masquerade mask in the form of a gargoyle-like horned creature. Evidently, he chose irony over creativity in the costume department as well! Crowley moved his mask up his head to see better. He nearly lifted his smoke-tinted glasses in astonishment at the sight of his old friend...like this!

“Crowley...” she whispered, as she...he ? had nearly sixty years ago. “Oh, am I glad to see you! Thank goodness for a familiar face!”

“Aziraphale! I...wish I could say the same,” the demon answered, still taking in this glimmering cream-colored spectacle. He bent down to gather the books and hand them back. Even Crowley wouldn't be seen shoving things up a...lady's crinolines. “Angel, you're...I mean...that is...you...”

“Yes, I'm a girl. I've noticed, thank you,” she snapped, wishing he'd hurry up and get the insults out of the way. There was still a job to do, after all! Her skirts rustled noisily as she adjusted her emergency library in the secret pockets hidden in her petticoats. “Bother. I'd had them alphabetized and everything.”

“You look very pretty. And you most certainly are not a _girl_. Woman, yes.” After taking a moment to really look, he could see his friend plainly in this new form. She had the same hazel eyes that flicked from golden to green, the same sly little smirk that would better serve a demon than an angel...Crowley shook himself as his thoughts ran away with him.

Aziraphale raised an incredulous eyebrow. “Oh.” Then, she attempted a curtsy, “Thank you.” This made them both laugh comfortably. “My dear fellow, how did you know it was me?”

“Easy. I felt you, saw someone here with your _unique_ fashion sense,” he nodded significantly at the fan she still clutched, “and I can't imagine who else would bring _books_ to a party like this.” In the time it took to say all this, Crowley had taken his friend's arm and led her out on to the dance floor. Before she knew it, Aziraphale was swept up in a waltz. Her eyes grew huge and she gulped, gazing up at him as he held her body close to his. “Oh my...” she whispered, blushing.

Crowley apparently enjoyed this reaction and adjusted his hand at her waist. He felt Aziraphale tremble at his touch but she made no move to reject his dance. The spun and twirled over the floor, much more...athletically than their fellow dancers! In later years, Aziraphale would compare that night to riding an aptly-named waltzer at a fair, or rather like his driving! Still, that wasn't what left the angel breathless. She'd known for an uncomfortably long time now that she was fond of him...drawn to him, but now! They were touching! Rather intimately, truth be told! Crowley spun them again and she pressed herself into his arms, giggling. He gave a low, demonic chuckle either at his own antics or at her reaction to them.

“Too fast for you, angel?”

Aziraphale laughed merrily, holding on tight. “Don't worry about me, I can keep up!”

“I didn't think angels could dance,” Crowley murmured.

“Call me an exception,” Aziraphale smiled up, her eyes all alight.

“Oh, I already did,” he replied, slowing their pace. “So, what do you say we _arrangement_ this assignment? I take it you're not here of your own accord. _I've_ been sent here here to tempt Lady Frances over there into an engagement with Baron Sebastian.” He couldn't stop himself from tucking a blonde curl that had come loose from Aziraphale's coif behind her ear. He leaned in close and whispered, “And unless I miss my guess, you're here to prevent that. So...why don't we call it off? Let them make their own decision?” Crowley paused a moment to breathe in her scent. Soft and sweet, like vanilla and honey. How he'd always imagined the Promised Land.

“And we'd, what? Just enjoy the party?” Aziraphale was tempted, and it showed!

Crowley smiled at his hedonistic friend, knowing just how to play this. “Seems reasonable, doesn't it? No score draw? And why shouldn't we enjoy ourselves, after all the work we do? Thankless, most of it, you've got to admit.”

Aziraphale frowned, remembering her...his last visit with Gabriel. It certainly hadn't been a glowing performance evaluation. “True...”

“And we're already here and dressed up, we might as well...at least to stay and see what happens. Impartial observers, right?”

The angel's smile grew as she processed this logic. “Yes, you're right!” The dance ended and they didn't move. They stood there, wrapped up in each other, as if they'd be content to spend the rest of the night like this. Aziraphale let out a content sigh and leaned against Crowley, surprising him.

“Sorry. Bit dizzy. This feels nice, though...” and that was when she realized that she'd been wanting this for _ages_. Angels really shouldn't have fantasies, but Aziraphale never did fit in well with the other angels. Always an odd duck. She wouldn't have dared to try something like this in her usual form. He could see why humans enjoyed touching so much, particularly with people they were fond of. It felt nice and tingly.

“You all right?” Crowley asked, genuinely concerned. Aziraphale might've made eyes at him in the past, he certainly never missed those longing gazes he thought he couldn't see, but...Heaven, the angel was _sighing_ over him! Was it from the dancing? He remembered not too long ago the waltz was considered too risque for polite society. It awakened forbidden desires and got the blood pumping most unsuitably! This was why he liked it so much!

Crowley didn't want things to get awkward, and so decided to try to bring them abruptly back to safer topics, like work. “And if they happen to run off together, so what? To Hell with what's an appropriate match. If they love each other, why would anyone try to prevent that?”

“Oh, so now you're a romantic? What would you know about love, demon?” Aziraphale huffed, finally stepping back and fluffing her skirts back out.

“I know more about real love than a bunch of stuck-up Puritan hypocrites and the holier-than-thou angels who put you up to this. Real, true, deep love knows no bounds, no limitations, no rules save for those of the heart!” He stopped, coughing, hoping his companion wouldn't think he was talking about _them!_

Aziraphale smiled, truly impressed. “Why Crowley, you're a poet! And you pretend to be so tough and cold. I knew there's something more than Hellfire keeping you warm inside.” She poked him playfully with her fan and batted him lightly on the shoulder with it. Crowley then took her hand and kissed the back of it, pretending he didn't notice Aziraphale's smile get wide and silly, as if he didn't see her give a happy little wiggle while she stood there.

There was a buffet table not too far from them with a wide variety of comestibles. If Crowley knew anything about his best friend, it was that he...she...could resist anything but temptation. He gave her dress another look over; it was lovely, but it looked uncomfortably tight. “Hey, Az, let me help you with that.” He muttered, reaching around and under her false wings, grasping for her laces.

Aziraphale flushed red! She gave him a sharper whack with her fan, “Crowley!”

“Oh, shut up and let me. You'll thank me later.” He spun her in place, ending with her facing the buffet as well. Then she realized what he was playing at. A few tugs, a few loosened strings, and Aziraphale couldn't contain her relief! “Oh! Ah, that's..._much_ better! Thank you!” She shimmied a bit, to make sure everything was still in place; Crowley, under guise of helping her straighten her skirt, ran his hands lightly along her generous hips and fluffed her bustle. “I don't care if this is a masquerade ball, you really shouldn't have these out in public,” he remarked, tugging on one of her wings. Four feathers popped out in his hand! Crowley gasped guiltily. “Oh, Az! I'm sorry! That must've hurt...wait...hang on!” He looked at them more closely. “These aren't yours! They're not even warm! These are swan feathers!”

Aziraphale tutted and snatched them from his fingers, tucking them into the satin ribbon about her waist. “Of course they are! You don't think I'd be silly enough to...you know...out here.” Aziraphale sounded offended at the very thought! “I'd still thank you not to rip out any more of my costume, though, my dear,” she added, tempering her remarks with a smile.

Then, together, they made their way over. There were all manner of finger sandwiches, miniature cakes and tarts. Aziraphale took some of everything, fully in the mood to give herself over to pleasures as an unexpected night off. She didn't even flinch when Crowley miracled the punch to be undoubtedly spiked. He dipped her a cup and held her plate for her, only snitching a bite or two for himself.

A few plates and a few glasses of refreshment later, and Aziraphale was ready to dance some more. After another go around the dance floor, they both felt in need of some fresh air. As soon as they stepped out on the grounds, however, Crowley waved a dramatic hand, and changed into a woman as well! Aziraphale startled, hiding a grin behind her fan. Crowley looked much more like an adult chaperon than she did: a sharp, striking figure in black lace and red satin.

Crowley fluffed out her skirts and patted herself all over to settle in. “Thought I'd give it a try. You made it look so fun.”

Aziraphale nodded, giggling openly. “It's...certainly you, Crowley.”

Crowley grimaced, finding her new accommodations to be rather uncomfortable at first. “I don't know. It's so _fluffy!_ I feel silly.”

Aziraphale certainly didn't mind. “I feel sparkling!”

“Bet I can get more dances than you,” Crowley challenged with a serpentine grin.

“You're on!”

Both of them being of the middle-aged spinster-like variety, this set an interesting challenge. However, neither of them wanted for partners for long. They were both highly experienced in the ways of temptation. Crowley had unmistakable demonic charm, that special quality that just oozed sex and forbidden desire. Aziraphale could melt or sway anybody simply by batting her eyes at them and giving just a hint of a smile. She saved her _sparkles_ for Crowley. Every so often, they would report to each other using fan code from across the room. What a subversive way to keep score! Two, four, eight partners apiece! Then Crowley gained a significant lead, then Aziraphale came up from behind, then Crowley stepped into his masculine self for one more dance with his angel to draw the score even once again. Then Crowley wanted to take an impromptu poll from the other guests to see which of the two of them had the prettier dress. This had to be the most enjoyable night of their lives and the most happily-completed “mission” on record. The crowning moment was when Lady Frances and Baron Sebastian went off in the garden together for a tete-a-tete. Aziraphale looked worried about failing so obviously, Crowley looked positively gleeful that his job had essentially been done for him...then...Crowley scented something different in the air. His strained to listen, grateful being a demon gave him rather keen hearing. Aziraphale listened in as well, feeling morose as he contemplated what Gabriel would say to him at their next meeting.

“Promise you don't mind,” Lady Frances asked, her voice hopeful.

“Mind? This is a _load_ off my mind! This will please my parents well enough, and I'm sure yours will come around,” Baron Sebastian answered. “You'll only be mine by law, on paper. And you can have my dear sister Laurel to your heart's content. You have my approval and my blessing.”

“Oh, Sebastian! Dear friend! Thank you!” And with that, they both hurried back into the ballroom to announce their engagement.

Aziraphale and Crowley looked at each other, then back at their targets, then back at each other...and laughed! “True love conquers all,” Aziraphale remarked happily. “You were right, my dear, you were absolutely right!”

Crowley chuckled, triumphant as well. Truly a no-score draw, and they both got a fun evening out from the deal. “You really believe in that, angel? That love can win against all opposition? Against Heaven and Hell?”

“Of course I do,” Aziraphale answered with certainty. What else could an angel, a being of love say? “With time and patience, and some good luck...if you love someone enough, anything is possible.” They shared a cautious smile, neither of them daring to say more.

They stepped back into the garden and Crowley assumed his male guise once more. “Ah, that's better. Lift home?” He gestured and a hansom cab trotted up to receive them.

She smiled and let him help her into the cab. Once the doors were shut and they were on their way, Aziraphale was able once again to resume his usual form. “Ahh! Oh lord, that _is_ better.” He looked over at Crowley, a remark along the lines of “Don't look so disappointed” dying on his lips when he saw his friend's smile brighten at the sight of him.

“Much better,” Crowley agreed. “Good to see you again. So, your bookshop isn't too far, is it?”

“Hmm? No, just a few blocks.” He bent over and stacked his emergency library back up after his skirt changed back into trousers. Soon, they were at his door. “Crowley, I...uh...I'm so glad you were here. Livened things up, that's for sure. It would have been awfully dull if I had to do this without you. I had a lovely time tonight. Thank you.”

“So did I, angel. Well, are you waiting for a goodnight kiss?”

Aziraphale didn't say anything to that, but let out a self-deprecating little chuckle, letting it pass of as a joke. Crowley could sense the hesitation in him. He didn't want to go too far too fast and ruin this magical evening. He took Aziraphale's hand, squeezed it lovingly, and kissed the back. Then, he pressed it to his cheek with a sigh.

“Crowley...” Aziraphale breathed, his heart racing as strange, sudden thoughts washed over him. Before he knew what he was doing, he scooted closer. He felt warm and flushed, and pleasantly jittery from nerves.

“Angel, I--”

“Please,” he interrupted shortly. “Say my name. I...I like when you call me angel, but...Crowley, dear, please...nobody says my name as nicely as you do.”

Crowley smiled, letting Aziraphale remove his hand from his cheek before pressing his to his own. They stared, unblinking at each other, as if afraid that to look away even for a fraction of an instant would break this lovely spell they were under. “Aziraphale,” he sighed, the Celestial speech nearly burning his tongue, but he'd grown accustomed enough to it over the years. “I wish we....that I...Oh, _Satan_, it's too bad you're not a demon! Falling's not so bad, you know. I'd be there to catch you.”

Ordinarily, this would have made him laugh or scold him for blasphemy, depending on his mood. Instead, Aziraphale squeezed Crowley's hand, stroking it longingly against his cheek, kissing his palm and fingers so carefully. They both knew this was a stolen moment, that the cab they were in, like the masquerade ball, was a perfect liminal space just for them, where an angel and a demon could love each other. They couldn't stay there forever, though. Their moment was nearly up. “I have to go,” Aziraphale said shortly, but softly, withdrawing his hand and gathering up his books. “I hope I'll see you soon, though. Good night.”

Crowley also seemed to understand that this was all they could hope for—tonight. “Good night, angel. See you.”

When Aziraphale stepped into his bookshop and closed the door, and when a light inside came on, only then did Crowley order the cab to drive on. He smirked to himself as he handled something slim and white in his hand. He drew it open...Aziraphale's lacy tartan fan! He snapped it closed and patted it with gloved fingers in his lap. He was so happy he had something to remember tonight by. Being a demon had its perks, after all. Being adept at sleight-of-hand and pick-pocketing was one of them!

“It's good to be home. Mission complete.” Aziraphale announced contentedly to the empty bookshop. He made himself some cocoa, sat down in his favorite chair and unbuttoned his boots; his rather small, high-heeled lady's boots. He slid them off and set them aside in a hidden cabinet. He leaned up against a wall and sighed. “Oh, Crowley. I could have danced all night.” He stared off with a faraway look on his face, his cocoa warming him nearly as much as Crowley had.

2019

A crash came from the back lounge of the bookshop, making Aziraphale snap his head up from where he was arranging a tray of hot cocoa and fresh shortbread. Slowly, cautiously, he crept out toward the direction of the noise. He heard muttering. “Uhm...that...lamp was always broken. Yeah. Just shove it in here, he'll never see...”

Aziraphale had to chuckle at that, his dear husband trying to be sneaky. Crowley was almost as bad at it as he was!

“Get in there, you...what's in here?!” Crowley grumbled, pulling out a pair of shoes. He examined them in his hands and then looked up to see their owner standing over him. His stomach gave a guilty jolt at being found out! Aziraphale could practically see the various excuses and hare-brained stories zooming through the demon's mind before he finally went completely blank behind the eyes. “Oh, I broke your lamp. What the Heaven are these doing here, angel?”

Now it was Aziraphale's turn to look guilty and to prevaricate. “Oh, those? Well, um...funny thing...” he set the tray down and twisted, shifting and shuffling that plainly telegraphed his nerves. 

Crowley made a theatrically wry face, standing up and holding the dainty ladies' boots. “I mean you don't have anything to wear with them...”

“No. No, I don't.”

“Unless I gave this back,” he finished with a flair, pulling the lacy fan miraculously out from his jacket pocket. He handed over the boots and the fan with a carefree smile. “There. Now you do.”

Aziraphale looked fondly at the mementos they'd both kept from that evening, that masquerade ball long ago. He looked back up at Crowley through his eyelashes with the sweetest shy expression on his face.

With a smug snap of his fingers, the record player started up and Crowley extended his hand. “Now, I'd say I owe you another dance.”


End file.
